Quasilingual
by HereWeGoOnceMore
Summary: Germany's house gets invaded by friendly ish  forces, languages are not America's forte, and certain nations and ex-nations should not be allowed on the same continent.


Some things you should know:

1. This series is not mine.

2. This series lends itself surprisingly well to darkfic.

3. This series lends itself _really_ well to slash.

4. But what I really wanted to write was goofy gen with too many people talking over each other.

5. So I did.

6. So that's what you'll find, and if you're looking for anything else you should go look somewhere else. Cameron Kennedy did something with angst recently; go check that out.

7. You should leave a review and tell me what you think.

Europeans were weird. That was going to be America's new answer for everything. Why did Sweden seem to think Finland was a girl? 'Cause Europeans were weird. Why did Poland seem to think Poland was a girl? Europeans were weird, that's why. Why did Germany keep walking into and out of and back into his kitchen? Europeans, weird, we appreciate your questions, please have a nice day.

"All right. I give up," Germany said, coming back in for the fourth time (America counted.) "Why are you all in my house?"

Hungary gestured to herself and Austria. "We're here to eat your food."

"That's not a good reason."

Austria turned a page in his newspaper. "Try the deviled eggs before you say that."

"Seriously kickass," Prussia added. "Oh, and I live here."

"I'm not sure why I'm here. Does that mean I have to leave?" said… shoot, one of the Italy brothers; America never could quite tell them apart.

Germany sighed. "No. God help me, I've gotten used to you."

"Aww," said Hungary.

"Creeper," said Prussia.

"Miscreant," said Austria.

"Weirdos," America proclaimed.

"And what about you?" Germany asked him. "What's your excuse?"

"I'm workin' on my German." America held up the crossword from Austria's newspaper. "Help me out, okay? My clue's 'go' and it's a five-letter word."

"L-E-A-V-E," Germany replied.

"L… E… A… hey, wait. That's an English word."

"At least he knows his own language," Austria murmured.

"Sort of," said Prussia.

"Um, it's actually England's language. In case you forgot, or something," said Italy.

"Oh, be nice," said Hungary. "He's trying."

"I understand a lot," America said. "I just can't get the words out of my brain when I need to make a sentence, you know?"

"Not really. I never have any problems saying anything. I'm awesome like that," said Prussia.

"Your English isn't," said Austria. "I think it may actually be worse than your German," he told America.

"Oh, yeah? Hey, America, do you understand this?" Prussia fired off some stuff real fast in German, and got hit over the head with a newspaper for it while Hungary giggled, Italy was clearly trying not to giggle, Germany dropped his head into his hands and muttered about how Prussia deserved everything he got and he wasn't going to clean up after his reckless older brother anymore, he meant it this time, and America tried to figure out what the heck Prussia'd said. He didn't have much luck, except—

"Did you just call him an ostrich?" he asked.

"Wait, what?" asked Italy.

"He called him Österreich," Germany explained. It was kind of muffled, because he still had his face in his hands, but at least it was in a language America could understand. "It's his name. In German. He called him some other things too, but I'm not repeating them."

"It sounds like 'ostrich' to me."

"It kind of does," Italy agreed.

"Admit it, darling," said Hungary. "Your language is a little ridiculous."

"Only a little? Have you been paying attention to his language? Are there any rules for what gets what gender?"

"Not really," she said.

"Don't forget about all the compound words," said Italy. "And the weird sentence structure."

"And the friggin' dialects!" America continued. "How many of 'em am I going to have to learn?"

"Nobody knows," said Hungary. "I think every so often they send someone to try to count them all, but he always gets eaten by the Dative."

"Really?" Italy asked.

"No, not really," Austria snapped. "Must you encourage them, Ungarn?"

"Is Ungarn you?" America asked Hungary.

She nodded.

"Hey, Austria. What's my name?"

"Backpfeifengesicht," he replied. Prussia laughed, for some reason.

"Whoa, really? That's crazy long and complicated. Actually, I think most of your words are crazy long and complicated. I'm not sure I can remember them all. Why am I trying to learn a language where I can't even remember my own name?"

Germany— still talking into his hands— said, "Why, indeed."

"Hey, would your feelings be hurt if I tried to learn something less—"

"NO!"

"Jeez, you guys don't have to shout."

"You could learn Italian," suggested Italy.

"Are you crazy?" Germany grabbed him by the shoulders. "Your brother would crucify him if he made any mistakes."

"At least he wouldn't be trying to crucify you anymore," said Prussia. "Do you even know what you did to piss him off?"

"I can think of a few things," said Austria.

"Yeah, but you're always pissed at everyone. Except her, for some reason." Prussia jerked his head at Hungary.

"Just because I have standards for what does and does not constitute acceptable behavior at the dinner table—"

"Just because you've got a stick the size of Joyeuse up your butt— and Hungary, I swear if you say anything I'll kill you—"

"How?"

"No one is killing anyone in my house!"

"Try and stop me, you upstart little punk!"

Europeans, man. They were all crazy. Italy was an okay guy, but America was pretty sure he was crazy too. He'd have to be, to hang out here all the time.

America ducked a flying egg.

"How long before they calm down, you think?"

Italy shrugged. "Usually they keep going until Germany kicks them all out. Then they fight in the yard and throw things at the windows."

"Wow."

They watched the row for a while. Then America asked:

"Do you know any French?"

"A little bit. Why?"

"'Cause I want to write a letter to my brother, and I'm pretty sure he knows French."

He knew just how he'd start it, too.

_Dear Canada,_

_Thank you for being North American and sane…._

Notes:

So, Mark Twain's "The Awful German Language" is kind of hilarious (though I disagree with Twain's opinion on parentheticals) and makes me want to write crack, despite knowing a total of about ten words in German and thus needing to actually look shit up. Just so you know, "backpfeifengesicht" is not the German word for America. It is the German word for a face in need of a fist. Is there anything this language doesn't have a word for?

Joyeuse, in case you didn't know and don't want to Google it, was Charlemagne's sword.


End file.
